Decisions, Decision
by manufactured chaos
Summary: My take on how Wonka decided to give up his factory.


**Author's Note:** So. First and foremost, a disclaimer: _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ does not belong to me, and it never will. Honestly, I don't particularly _want_ to own it. …Or maybe I shouldn't have said that. -hides from rabid fangirls/-boys-

But whatever. On to the random talking. I wrote this because it was 1 a.m. and I didn't want to go to sleep. It's almost a response to IDOL HANDS' review, in which she (?) basically told me to be more creative.

Um, just a word of warning… I don't think this makes any sense at all. Again: I wrote it at 1 a.m. simply because I didn't want to go to sleep.

Well… On to the story…

--

A certain Mr. Willy Wonka was sitting, deep in thought, in one of the various offices scattered randomly throughout his enormous factory.

"What am I going to do?" he asked the unresponsive room, allowing his head to sink wearily into his hands. "That's the third spy I've caught this week! I can't let this keep happening; I'll be ruined… Really, you'd think Slugworth and Prodnose and them would hire _intelligent_ people to spy on me, but they just keep sending these _idiots_! It's like they're mocking me…" He sighed heavily. He could just hear Mr. Slugworth's taunting voice in his head:

"It seems your only option now I to simply close your factory forever!"

But a voice in his head, a competitor's voice at that, was not going to get to Mr. Wonka. "NO!" he yelled, much to the surprise of any employees who happened to be walking by, then leaped to his feet and began pacing angrily across the small room. "No," he repeated more quietly," this factory is my life. _Chocolate_ is my life. This, all of this, is more than I ever could have even dreamed of!" He hadn't noticed, but his voice had been rising in pitch as he spoke and by the end of those few sentences he sounded almost hysterical. "I am not," he continued shrilly, "going to let them take this away from me!"

With that, the usually cheerful man aimed a violent kick at the flimsy wooden chair he had been sitting in. The defenseless, abused chair toppled over with a clatter. Our dear Willy Wonka let out a choked sound not unlike a sob––but we all know the great Willy Wonka never cries.

A minute or so passed in complete silence while everyone's favorite hero (I, for one, have never much liked Charlie) wiped at the not-tears that were not-running down his cheeks. The tense silence was broken when the door creaked open and his secretary poked her head in.

"Um, sorry to interrupt, sir," she said meekly, "but I heard yelling and thought I'd make sure everything was okay in here.,"

There was a moment of hesitation in which Willy Wonka gathered his composure. When he had plastered an embarrassingly fake-looking smile on his face, he said brightly, "Oh, yes, everything's fine. I'm fine, you're fine, the factory is fine… You thought a teensy little argument with myself meant things weren't fine? Silly girl… Whatever will I do with you?

"Listen, I need you to arrange an assembly. Make sure everyone is there. As soon as possible. I need to make an announcement. And…" He paused dramatically.

"And what?" the girl asked boredly, used to being expected to ask such questions when Mr. Wonka was in a "funny" mood.

"And… You're fired."

The secretary had never been more surprised by an answer as in that moment. "What?" she exclaimed, not quite sure if she was supposed to be angry. "Are you trying to make a joke? Because that's just not funny! Not to be rude, sir, but that crosses a line. And even if you aren't joking, why on earth would I arrange an assembly for you if I've just been fired? You can't possibly expect me to–"

"Because," he cut her off smoothly, "everyone's fired. I'm closing the factory. Forever."

--

**Author's Note**: Well, there you have it. 553 words in total––does that count as drabble?

Yes, I know my portrayal of Willy Wonka in this seems horribly Out Of Character, but I don't think he would have really just given up on his factory without at least an inner battle. Even the happiest of people would be angry when forced to give up their life's work.

Another problem with this that _I already know about_ is how on earth he decided that he was going to give up the factory. All the talking and yelling et cetera is really just him being in denial. In his heart, he knows he can't go on just letting his brilliant inventions get stolen.

…That's why he have patents, though, dear. Seems a bit easier than employing Oompa Loompas instead of humans…

Well, whatever. Just, ah, review, if you don't mind; I love hearing what you guys think of this crap. Rant away, m'dears!

Oh, by the way, the title is stolen from a song by The Starting Line. To make up for my shameless stealing of their song-name, you should all go look them up and maybe even buy their music.


End file.
